


My Cage has a Name

by whyntir



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Borderline Personality Disorder, Bromance, Bulimia, Comfort/Angst, Comorbid disorder, Depression, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Eating Disorders, Explicit Language, Family Issues, Gen, Homophobic Language, Humiliation, Male-Female Friendship, Mental Anguish, Mental Health Issues, Multiple Personalities, Psychological Self Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Self-Harm, Slice of Life, Suicide Attempt, Teenage ADHD, male anorexia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-08-14 14:56:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 12,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8018440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whyntir/pseuds/whyntir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You don't get it, it isn't that simple! You couldn't understand even if you tried, so stop bothering."<br/>"We only want to help."<br/>"You haven't even asked me what I want! I never asked for your help or anyone's help!"</p><p>Every cage has a name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Judgement

**Author's Note:**

> I want to make this very clear before you proceed. This story is based off of my actual experiences and those of my closest friends. I am doing my absolute damnedest to give those who don't live with these disorders a real, raw, honest experience of what it is like to live in these cages. As such this story can and will be extremely triggering. And if you too live with any of these conditions mentioned in this fic, please know you are not alone, no matter how often you feel that way.

He could feel the eyes on him as he slouched in the stiff office chair, trying to make himself even smaller in the cold waiting room. Across the waiting room, his mother spoke pleasantly with the receptionist, the two acting like good friends. Probably they were. Sounds about right, his mother friends with the secretary, bet she had access to his private files. Probably called his mom when he was at school to tell her about how fucked up her kid was and that they needed to upgrade from one session a week to two.

Which was exactly why he found himself here, in this _freezing_ little waiting room with a woman reading an outdated and overused fashion and gossip magazine. She had short blonde hair tucked behind her ear, and some huge breasts. Like those were real. Then there was his mother and that _bitch_ of a receptionist chatting it up at the front. Glaring, he looked back down at his basketball shoes.

Shoes were good. Shoes were safe. Familiar. He really liked these shoes. The laces were starting to fray and one of the leather loops on the left one had totally broken, making them tie unevenly. He’d need new ones soon, but he hated going out. He hated shopping, it took forever and cost too much energy. After school was out of the question, and he needed his weekends to recuperate. Maybe he could talk his father into buying them off the internet, that saved everyone the trouble.

The door clicked open leading further into the little suite, Gilbert fighting the instinctive urge to look, he could feel the eyes again, every time someone came or went, they always looked at him. They always looked.

His skin was crawling all over again.

“I’m so happy you came today Natalya,” the therapist practically cooed. Perhaps he was trying to be enthusiastic, but really it came off as condescending. “Same time next week. You will show up, yes?”

Boobs smiled, standing and grabbing a small bag. She looked younger now that he could see her face better from the corner of his eye. “Yes we will.”

“Payment was already settled, so I’ll see you both in a week. Take care.”

He watched them leave without moving. Moving drew attention to him, attention meant looks, looks were judgments. He was so fucking sick of people judging him. The girl, Natalya, walked several paces behind Tits McGhee, scowling at nothing in particular. Oh, well at least he wasn’t the only one coming here under duress.

“Gilbert.”

He glowered, refusing to budge. He had just been here Monday! He refused to make this easy. He liked schedules and any change made without his explicit okay was absolutely unacceptable. His entire schedule was fucked now! He would be late for dinner and that meant the Hunger would come and gnaw at him.

“Gilbert,” his mother scolded loudly, making his face flare in a blush self-consciously. Was the public humiliation really necessary!? It didn’t matter that there was literally no one else in the room, it was the ethics of it all. Giving the blonde woman his filthiest glare, he stood stiffly, his vision going black a moment as he realized how bad of an idea that had been just a little too late. He refused to show weakness, however, walking blindly and doing his best not to sway too bad.

“Right this way, Gilbert,” Francis Bonnefoy smiled, standing aside to let him into the dimly lit little room with the couch and coffee table.

It wasn’t like those red couches in the movies and all the jokes about therapists. No, it was a regular couch in some boring beige colour that fell in a little too much from all the asses that had sat on it. He scowled at the cup of water Francis set in front of him, of course the bastard would have noticed.

“I’m sure this isn’t the real solution, but it should help you make it through,” Francis spoke plainly, settling in a plush blue arm chair on the other side of the table. “How have you been Gilbert.”

“Dandy, until _someone_ decided they should spend two days a week wasting my time.”

Francis smiled sadly, shoulders dropping slightly in some silent sigh, “So more of the same, is it? Remember when we could talk? Why don’t we go back to that?”

“Sounds fucking beautiful,” the albino barked a ragged laugh that actually hurt his throat, forcing him to actually accept the plastic cup of water. Francis waited patiently until he was done, not done drinking mind you. No, even something as simple as that was a ritual. Sip, swallow, feeling the coldness travel through his body before pooling in his stomach. His real stomach, behind his left ribs. It spread from there to his arms, his legs, his heart. God why did it have to be so cold.

But it did the trick, his fiery temper cooling as he shivered under the baggy sweatshirt. Francis took the subdued look in the teenager’s kaleidoscope eyes to finally shift his legs into a more comfortable position, drawing the boy from where ever he had wandered off to inside himself. “You used to be more open Gilbert, I don’t understand what happened.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” he muttered bitterly, he had given up. The look was not attractive, rather it bordered on heartbreaking. “You wouldn’t understand what it’s like to have the whole goddamn world know you are pathetic. To go to school and have your teachers watching you during lunch, have them judging your food. Having the other kids whisper about what is going on. Rumors about you everywhere. To go home and have your family, your friends’ families, your mom’s friends’ families, even her fucking coworkers! Literally the entire fucking planet knows there is something wrong with me.”

“What do they say?”

“What are they gonna say!?” the boy snapped. His hood fell off his head, he looked thinner again. His cheekbones and jaw more defined, sharper, but not naturally. A little food would round out the edges, give him those boyish features he used to possess when he first started coming here. Now he just looked tired, like he could sleep for a thousand years and still wake up tired.

“How are you? Are you eating? Your mom told me everything.”

 _‘Ah,’_ Francis thought, rubbing his temple with a knuckle as the truth came out. Three weeks and all Gilbert had to do was tell him. Perhaps he should have figured that out himself, however. Helmine was that sort of parent; she hovered, tried too hard. She did only have the best intentions for her oldest son, but that was how the road to Hell was said to be paved.

His attention was drawn back when he noticed Gilbert move, drawing in his knees to his chest, hiding his face. “Even Ludwig. I don’t know what is more fucked up, the fact that my mother cages me with her spies or that my own little brother treats me like an infant. I don’t need to be taken care of. I don’t want to be.”

“He doesn’t understand.”

Red-violet eyes, now more red than violet as he blinked back tears, stared balefully from across the room. “Do you? Does anyone? No one but me understands.”

“You’re right-,” Francis started, but was cut off.

“You have hundreds of patients I bet. Girls. All of them are girls, Because it’s so stupid. It’s _weak_. Boys don’t get eating disorders!”

Francis let those last words echo in the little room, the waiting room couldn’t hear anything, so it was trapped here, between them. But it wasn’t welcomed here either. “Gilbert, that’s obviously not true.” He could see it, the little light in the boy’s irises. The little bit of validation.

If only validation was the magic cure.


	2. Stress

“Elizabeta!” Eva called from across the studio, waving to the brunette happily, The blonde was no more than 13 years old, but she already glued herself to the group of older girls in the studio. She had a lot of promise, especially in ballet; they’d have been fools to ignore her abilities and leave the sweet little girl to fend for herself among the more vicious and competitive wolves prowling the class.

“Hey dear,” Eliza smiled tiredly, dropping her heavy dance bag before plopping in the chair beside it, “I am exhausted! The restaurant got slammed thirty minutes into my shift and just went downhill from there.”

“Oh no,” Eva gawked, looking up from her stretch on the floor, legs splayed out in a wide second as she reached forward. Seriously, the kid was like rubber. “Are you gonna be okay for the auditions?”

“What, you dropping out?” Danica asked, walking up to the two girls. Danica, the smaller brunette with her hair in a braided bun who looked more severe than she should have for her child-like size. She was also the only real competition Elizabeta had to look out for, both excelling in the contemporary style.

The green-eyed teen smirked haughtily, “And give up on the solo? You’re tripping kid.” Danica muttered something about being the same age, which Eliza waved off with a laugh. “Anyway, I gotta get changed, I’ll be in the bathroom.”

“Alright, don’t take too long, you may still be warm from running around at work, but you still need to stretch!” Eva called after, contorted on her back as she worked on stretching both her quads and her hamstrings. Seriously, had the girl escaped from a travelling circus?

The bathroom was a single serve, which was ideal. When she was on the school’s dance team, it had been nerve wracking to do this in one of the stalls, but she had never been comfortable outside her own home, even now she felt her skin crawl thinking about all the people who may or may not have used this toilet before her. Well now the gross out factor was up at nine thousand.

She dumped her dance bag on the floor, a change of clothes out of the black polo and jeans she wore for work, tights, high-waisted shorts, a flowing middrift to allow more air and keep her from overheating. Littered on top were tens of dozens of wrappers. Three or four from a burger joint, several more from the convenience store as a ready-made meal, on top of it all were chocolate wrappers. They were what she ate first, unfortunately, so this was going to be unpleasant. Turning on the water and pulling her hair back into a high ponytail, the brunette looked at herself in the mirror. God she had a major food baby. If she looked like that normally, she’d have never dare to look at herself in the mirror. Running her fingers under the tap a second, just to get them initially wet and make this slightly faster she doubled over the mouth of the porcelain throne.

When she had first done this, it had terrified her, and she couldn’t seem to do it right. She felt so stupid. How can you have a gag reflex and not make yourself puke?! Everyone made it sound like it was so easy, and it really fucking wasn’t. There was a secret to forcing the purge, and it came in the form of crescent marks just above her belly button as her left elbow braced against her slightly bent knee, pushing a pointed fist deeper into the engorged flesh. She felt hot, her temperature always spiked when she binged. Slipping the first two fingers of her right hand into her mouth, they hit the back of her throat easily, but that wouldn’t bring anything up. She shallowly thrust her fingers against the sensitive nerves at the back of her throat, feeling her stomach repulse with an reflexive dry heave. Two more quiet gags and she pulled her hand back to keep from getting the majority of the half-digested food on her hand. As it was, her fingers would smell, she didn’t need her entire arm smelling like this.

Bread came up relatively easy, at least for her. She knew others had trouble with it from perusing the internet, but to be fair she had a bitch of a time with ice cream. So to each their own. Meat too, protein had a tendency of coming up in nearly one piece. And in all respects, they tasted nearly the same coming up as they had going down, not that she could honestly claim to have tasted anything halfway through the binge. After some point everything tasted like nothing, it was like eating dense air, made chewing more tedious. No, what was the worst part was the chocolate. It melted so quickly, so it was basically chocolaty bile, giving the candy a bitter after taste that made her reach for one of the half dozen water bottles she still had on her.

Water was another trade secret she had picked up. It helped push everything back out, and it never hurt to resupply on the stuff during a purge. It was absolutely fucking necessary afterwards, For after, she had low-calorie electrolyte mix powders to add. That would give her that boost she needed to keep the high. The light feeling she got after every purge, as though all the weight was gone. The food, the world, her problems, the stress. All the weight of everything flushing down the toilet. She chugged the water bottle empty and started on a second before leaning back over, smelling the meat and the vomit, making it even easier the second time around.

She kept going until she couldn’t get anything more, subduing a cough as she dry heaved. Looking back at the mirror, the sink still going, she first appraised her stomach. Flat as a board, like nothing had happened at all. No, the evidence was all on her face. Tears smeared down her cheeks, mixing with saliva and snot, her lips slightly swollen, along with her cheeks. Chipmunk cheeks, but they weren’t  _ that _ noticeable. Besides, most people were too ignorant to actually know what to look for with bulimia. Not that she only kept her first two nails on her right hand short while the others were a decent length. Not the way she would disappear an hour after eating, or the insane amount of water bottles she carried everywhere. No, no one really noticed this kind of crap, not unless you looked like a bag of skin and bones.

A knock on the door cut into her thoughts.  _ “Hey, are you done in there?” _ another girl called impatiently. Elizabeta washed her face, picking out pieces of backsplash from her bangs. That was probably the worst part: backsplash. But three years of this shit and it didn’t seem so bad anymore.

“Yeah gimme a minute!” the brunette called, quickly changing. No, that didn’t take much time. Taking a wad of toilet paper, she wiped down the seat, the back, the sides, the rim. She even traced the inside of the lip, fingers dangerously close to the slop that had once been her stomach contents.

_ ‘And I used to think this was the most disgusting thing,’ _ she thought with some amusement. Three years did that.

You flush twice to make sure it is gone. You wash your hands and then cover the smell with perfume and gum and hand sanitizer. Lucille frowned as she exited the restroom, the younger teen giving her that disapproving glare of knowing. So what if she knew? Who cared? Not Elizabeta. No, she didn’t care, because no one would believe the pipsqueak. And besides, she couldn’t afford to feel the weight right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eva - Liechtenstein  
> Danica - Czech  
> Lucille - Monaco


	3. Life

 

Lovino sighed heavily, dumping his bags at his feet. Two bags. Two bags that carried everything he owned from this point out. No one tried to stop him as he left, not this time.

_'Serves me right.'_ It was the first thought that crossed his numb mind since he told them he was getting the hell out of dodge. He was on the bus to the college, that was second. Third was the fact he had a class today. Who cared.

_"Hey, it's me. I know you're still at work… but, uhm… I'm kinda homeless right now. Just waiting for the bus. I'll see you at class."_

Homeless.

God why did that word make him want to cry? Probably because of how it sounded. Homeless sounded very close to worthless. Worthless, pathetic, stupid.

Stupid. That was what she said to start this entire clusterfuck. His stupid stuff. But it was his stupid stuff, and if his stuff, that he actually really liked; thank you very much, was stupid, what did that make him? And it was just the way she said it. The way it made his skin crawl, his neck stiff, his gut clench like he had just been punched.

Borderline Personality. That was what the doctor called it the last time he actually went. In the end all they did was give him a prescription of antidepressants. Drugs, money. That was what everything boiled down to in the end. After his prescription ran out with absolutely no change, he never went back.

Still, it was the reason he was given as to why every word said just a little wrong stung like acid. Why every negative thing was a direct attack on his very existence. Why, when she screamed that he _never_ cleaned his room, all love for her in his heart died. It was a lie. He had cleaned his room before, he had wiped everything, dusted, vacuumed, reorganized his closet! No, he didn't do it all the time, rather it was a rare occurrence, but you couldn't say he had _never_ done it! He had!

Yeah. That.

He looked at his hands. He'd hit her, well, slapped her. He never did it hard, he couldn't bring himself to, even though he really tried. It was almost scary how hard he tried to hurt her, but he couldn't do it. He did, however, grab her throat. Not to kill her! God, no, never to really hurt her, but just to make her stop. Make her stop talking. Stop making it worse. Stop making problems.

* * *

_'But that's all you do.'_

* * *

Right. That's what Feliciano had said. While he couldn't hurt his mom, Feliciano was a different story. He didn't think he hit him _that_ hard. Harder than he'd hit her, but not really as hard as he could. He just needed them to shut up and listen. Just shut up and really listen.

Moving his last two fingers hurt down his entire forearm. His mother had left her fingerprints on his arm, just below his wrist. Or perhaps they were from her fist. Either way, they were red, swollen, starting to bruise. They did say Italians were a feisty lot.

"Oh who the fuck cares," he muttered to himself. The public bus was old, meaning it was loud and rattling with every minute change in the road. No one could hear him, and especially since no one sat near him. It was quite full, and yet no one dared to sit anywhere in arms reach of him. He probably had a scary face on. It caused a smile to delicately touch his lips. Then spreading, ripping, tearing.

Smiles had a way of doing that.

' _So where will you go?'_

Ah, right. Homeless little shit here. Where was he supposed to go? No where. Antonio's aunt and uncle may take him in for a night, but nothing permanent. That, and he refused to ask.

' _Is now really the time to have any pride? Look at yourself, you already look homeless. You even got the glassy dead-eyed stare.'_

He scowled at that. No, he would not ask Antonio. Maybe Sadiq God, he really was pathetic. The two hadn't talked for months since their last argument. Would he really pretend none of that ever happened just for a bed for the night? Where was that pride he had just a second ago? No. Hell no. He would not be a user. Even if he didn't care about the stupid Turk, he wouldn't abuse him like that. Besides, he didn't feel like owing anyone.

' _Bet they threw all my shit out. All my art. My clothes. My important stuff i couldn't take. Everything she called stupid shit. Bet it's all gone. Nothing waiting for me even if I did go home.'_

Go back? Really? Sure, every other time he always managed to come home. Maybe she didn't? Maybe it was still there, keeping his things ready for when he came back like he did every other time.

Both scenarios made him angry. He would not come back willingly this time. He would not end up there. Oh but he had work this weekend. They'd be looking for him. He could lose his job.

"Being an adult sucks." Can't even have crisis without being reminded that you have shit to do.

Oh, but that's right. No one treated him like an adult. Sure, he could drink, but if he had one wine cooler ever few days he was suddenly an alcoholic. So what if he drank alone!? He just liked to use it to relax. It didn't mean he had a problem. Oh shit, she would definitely find all those bottles in his closet. Well, definitely can't go back now.

' _It would be pretty easy. Alcohol, sleeping pills, painkillers for good measure. Did it once before, almost succeeded but chickened out at the last moment. No regrets this time, already burnt those bridges.'_

It clicked. It was like a cold wave running from the top of his head down to his toes and back up, getting colder every time. Tears finally pricked behind his eyes, but he didn't feel anything. It was just the knee-jerk reaction when a reality that you'd rather wish didn't exist finally settled in. He really had no choice now.

' _Coward.'_

He was a coward. He knew it. He didn't give a shit. He would be a coward, running away from everything. How much more that he wanted a painless death. Oh how pathetic. He didn't need anyone else telling him this, he already knew. He always knew, even now he knew. That wasn't going to stop it. The ball already began rolling, spiraling downhill.

Don't say anything.

To say something was to cry for help. To cry for help means that you didn't mean it. If you don't mean it, you're just like she said.

* * *

" _You're nothing but an attention-seeking bastard."_

* * *

No, this wasn't ever for attention. He meant it every time, but he decided against it before. Or maybe he was just looking for attention? Now he definitely had to do it, just to make sure of the truth.

The bus lurched to a stop, pulling up to the front of the was still numb as he stumbled off among dozens of other students, all of them grey and faceless. They were talking, but it was just a distant buzz in his ear that faded into white noise. He should probably head over to the computer lab, do some research before class. If he was gonna do this, may as well make sure he wasn't gonna wake up. The alcohol would be easy. Hard liquor would help too. It didn't need to be top shelf shit. Over the counter drugs, however, were totally different. They may not be strong enough. To get the right dosage would take a lot. The thought of expenses floated on by and he laughed to himself.

"Lovino?"

He was dragged out of his plotting, the smile plastering itself on his face more out of reflex than any actual effort. Oh yes, he was at that point. Feelings, what feelings? No feelings here to hide. No, they all disintegrated hours ago.

"Eva," he greeted the tween, "How are things? I forgot you took classes here." Understatement of the century, he had totally forgot she even existed. Not that he didn't like her, just he saw her so rarely.

The blonde smiled sweetly, but her eyes flickered down to the over-stuffed bags. She wasn't stupid. "I'm good. It's been awhile since we saw each other. How are things?"

' _End of the world catastrophic soul-crushing despair.'_

"I'm doing fine. You attend the dance studio here, right?"

She nodded, once more looking at the bags. "Lovino, you don't have to tell me," she spoke softly, concern in her pleading green eyes, "but can I ask about the bags?"

For the first time since packing them, the brunette looked at them himself. Clothes and accessories for work and class hanging out and off every available pocket and looked like he was a refugee. Really, his life wasn't that hard. Just everything was hard in his head.

"They're nothing."

"Okay," she relinquished, obviously more concerned now than before, but keeping her word, she said nothing.

' _Thank you.'_

"I'm sorry," she said suddenly, looking to the parking lot, "I have to get home, or Basche will worry. You have class at this time? I'll look for you, okay?"

' _You won't see me.'_

"Yeah," he smiled, "I'll see you."

And she was gone. The smile fell. It fell and crashed like glass. Why would he have suddenly ran into her of all people. Why today? Why now?

He sneered, "Nice try God. Not gonna work this time."

* * *

Sleeping Pills

Painkillers

Benzos

Alcohol

Benzos

Sleeping Pills

Alcohol

Painkillers

Alcohol

Benzos

Painkillers

Sleeping Pills

* * *

"Lovi!"

He ignored the chipper call. Of course it was Antonio, even after that message he left. That fucking bastard.

"Lovi?"

"Hey," Lovino spoke, stuffing the heavier bag into the nearby lockers. It could stay there forever for all he cared. Maybe someone would cut the lock and sell his shit. At least they would give it more worth than the fucking trash. "What time is it?"

"Thirty minutes before class. Why?"

Now was the time for excuses. For lies. They came so easy as though he rehearsed them. "I need to stop by the supermarket. Don't have a lot of things. Shampoo, conditioner, toothbrushes, hair brushes. I really only got my clothes and shit. Not even food."

The Spaniard blinked, those owlish green eyes working like gears to process everything before he smiled brightly, "Sure! Of course we can! I'll just tell Sadiq we'll be right back."

The drive was short, it was just down the road.

"Can you stay in the car? That way I can just grab the shit and we can go."

"Sure! We don't want to be late."

' _I'm sorry.'_

The basket had nothing but pill boxes and alcohol. He almost expected the cashier to say something. Anything. Try and stop him. He thought of a hundred different things to say. In the end she never even looked twice at the potential cocktail. She rang him out with a thank you. He walked back to the car. He stayed silent as they drove back, Antonio talking the whole way. Lovino couldn't hear any of it.

' _I'm sorry Antonio. I just made you assist in my suicide.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I had more time to tell you these stories. tell you more. Give you a deeper look, something more that you could understand. Now it appears I have no more time. A part of me hopes this doesn't work. Another part hopes that this gets to be the last chapter. I am a coward.


	4. You

_Today was the most terrifying day of my life._

_When Sadiq messaged me … I never ran so hard before. I wish I found you sooner. I wish I had turned around. I'm so sorry. Today was a nightmare come to life. I thought I was going to lose you. I thought those were your last moments. I know you didn't want me to know… I guess I can't blame you. I would have died if I found out after._

_I only hope I offered you some comfort. Holding you during that, feeling you shudder and grow cold. Hearing your voice fade into whispers and seeing you cry. I was watching you die in my arms. It was the hardest thing I have ever done. I haven't stopped crying all day. I was so scared, but I'm glad I found you. I don't think I ever prayed so hard. I was begging and pleading for you to live. When they took you away I went and got Sadiq. I was screaming the entire way. We waited for hours for you to be okay._

_They told us you're stable now, but exhausted. We'll come visit you tomorrow if they let us in. I just … please. I want you to understand that I love you. Please don't leave me. Please don't do this. It might be selfish for me to ask, but I don't care. Please don't go. Please. I'm begging._

_You looked so surprised when I ran to you, but you shouldn't be. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I didn't find you sooner. But I couldn't bear the thought of losing you. I obviously spent the whole time sobbing, holding you, and trying to keep you awake._

_I won't let you die._

* * *

Lovino closed the little notebook, the room empty and echoing with the humming and beeps of the EEG monitor. His heart rate was up, and the IV in his arm stung as he hugged the cover to his chest.

He could still see it, Antonio running into the ravine under the bridge, facing the wrong way. He was right there, but it was too late. The pills were already getting to work, the alcohol making it worse. He just needed sleep.

Antonio looked around frantically. Ran in the opposite direction. He saw someone lean over the bridge. Saw two people on the opposite side. Horses. He liked horses. God, he was tired. He couldn't move. It was getting cold.

Oh, Antonio.

Antonio.

' _I'm here.'_

He never had seen the Spaniard run so fast in his life.

" _Oh god! Oh God no, no no no! Stay with me. Please stay! I'm sorry."_

' _I'm sorry.'_

"Idiot," he sobbed quietly into the dark room, the blinds closed and blocking out the sun, "Why are you the one apologizing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still here. I just got out of the hospital AMA (Against Medical Advice). This is a real letter my friend gave to me. Names obviously have been changed.


	5. Control

_ ‘It’s just a salad. Yeah, it’s a big salad, it has pieces of salmon on it, a little avocado, but it is just a salad. There is no dressing. It’s just a salad.’ _

A big salad. Did she really need to find the biggest plate they had to put it on. Any appreciation he had for her consideration in the design was completely lost on the sheer size. He already felt a headache coming on as he struggled to talk down his anxiety. This was what she considered a compromise.

“It’s just a salad, Gilbert.”

The albino glared across the table, his nose wrinkling in hatred. “Go. Away.”

“Mom had to go to work, she asked me to make sure you finished dinner,” the blonde sighed, plopping into the seat across from him. It only agitated him more that the younger teen had the nerve to sound irritated.

They held their gazes, red-violet against a clear sky blue. Burning anger against icy indifference. It felt like forever before Gilbert looked away first, snatching the fork up, stabbing it into the dish. A piece of salmon, half a cherry tomato, spinach and a bit of avocado. It hovered at mouth-height, he tried to just take a bite. Just one bite. It was okay. It was just a salad. It would make them go away. Just show them he was okay. He was normal. If he could prove it, just once, they would leave him alone. Just… one.

He dropped the fork to the plate loudly, growling in exasperation, “Stop looking at me!”

“Mom told me-.”

“I don’t care what you were told!” he shouted, standing up indignantly, “Stop it! I can’t even eat with you here!”

Ludwig sighed, rubbing his temple as if he knew what a stress headache possibly felt like. “It is just to make sure you eat something. You don’t even have to eat the whole thing Gilbert, I’ll tell her you did, but I’ll just ask for you to eat half. Just something.”

“I do eat!” Gilbert shouted, his face turning red at the subject, his whole body recoiling from his brother like a cobra faced with a mongoose, “Are you all fucking stupid!?”

“You’re anorexic-.”

“I am not an anorexic! I don’t starve! I do everything I can not to starve!” The tears were starting to prick behind his eyes as his voice hitched. An angry crier, that was what Francis had called it. He never cried when he was sad, but when he got pissed off, the tears just wanted to go. He couldn’t talk without his bottom lip quivering. Couldn’t blink or else the salty tears would break free and make everything worse.

Ludwig frowned darkly, a look that said  _ ‘I’m getting tired of your bullshit.’ _ “Then eat the damn salad, Gilbert.”

“Go away so I can!”

“So you can throw it away?”

The older teen grabbed his own hair, wanting to just pull it out in frustration, “So I can fucking eat!”

“Why can’t you eat in front of me?”

_ ‘Stop looking at me!’ _

“Because I can’t!”

“Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?”

_ ‘Stop it!’ _

“Do you know how fucking little I care what it sounds to you?”

“Then why can’t you not care about me sitting here while you eat?”

_ ‘Stop judging me!’ _

“Because I can’t!” He practically screamed, shaking his head, slamming his hands on the table. The tears fell into the salad. His shoulders shook in rage, not from crying. Definitely not from crying. He refused to think of himself that weak. He already had disordered eating; an eating disorder. He refused to have it named. Anorexia was what you had when you thought you were fat. It made you stop eating. It made you resort to chewing gum and drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes to kill the hunger. It made you constantly pinch and prod yourself until you believed you still had more weight to lose.

That wasn’t his issue.

He never saw himself as fat. He never had been fat. He was a loud, lively, athletic kid, ever since he could walk on his own. He didn’t kill his hunger with substances. Rather, when he was hungry, he’d eat. He never missed a meal. He never went a day without food. He  _ always _ ate. And he never cared about how much he weighed. He still wore all his old clothes, even though they hung off his slight frame. He never looked at himself in the mirror. Not after he saw the bones. His chest that used to be build and solid looked like corpse with his skin stretched taut across his ribs. His albinism didn’t help. No, it had nothing to do with that.

It had to do with this bullshit.

The lack of control.

The lack of freedom.

He couldn’t have a less than perfect GPA since he started kindergarten. He couldn’t join any extracurricular activities unless she approved. If he didn’t keep in line, he’d lose those “privileges”. She controlled who his friends were, banning Antonio, Lovino and even Alfred from coming to the house. She even dictated who he could and couldn’t date! When she met Elizabeta, with her sharp tongue and outgoing personality and tomboyish demeanor, his mother had none of it, telling him she didn’t approve of his choice of companionship right in front of her. And ever since Ludwig started high school the year previous, he had been spying on him.

Everyone watched him.

Everyone judged.

It was all he had left.

The only thing he had control over.

“Gilbert-.”

_ Crash!! _

The room was silent as Gilbert stared the blonde down, he looked like a cornered animal. That’s what Ludwig thought. He looked at the broken plate. The perfectly good salad turned over on the ground. The fork flew across the room. Aster jumped awake at the commotion, blinking bleary eyed and looking for the cause of the loud noise.

“Fuck you.”

He was not going to give up control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anorexia isn't just about how you look.


	6. Myself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not write this chapter, merely edited and co-authored it. I feel it is another side to a story that has to be told, even if it hurts.

_ Stupid _

He wasn’t ignorant. He knew what was in those bags. He knew what they could do. Still, he pretended. He made it seem like it was okay. He tried to pretend that nothing was  _ that _ wrong.

_ Idiot _

He didn’t just pretend, he made himself believe it. He honestly believed everything would be okay. That he was over-reacting. Lovino was tough, a strong person. Strong people don’t crumble like that. They wouldn’t…

_ Murderer _

What if he had said something. What if he had suggested to hold onto the bag of pills. What if he hadn’t left him alone. If he had just done  _ something _ …

_ Failure _

The ink bled down his arms. Down his legs, his stomach. The words written on his skin cut deeper than any knife could, except it did its job better. Knives cut skin, drawing up the blood, the adrenaline, the endorphins. It gave numbness and with it comfort and escape. He didn’t deserve that. The words kept him awake. Kept him feeling. Kept him hurting.

_ Blind _

He winced as the word seemed to grow, written across his bare chest. He was so blind. He didn’t see Lovino. He ran right past him. He didn’t see the weight his friend was crumbling under. He didn’t see!

His eyes pricked. Tingled. Burned. It felt like they were trying to shrivel up on themselves. Serves them right. They were useless anyway. They missed everything.

They failed.

His vision blurred.

They deserved to die.

He couldn’t see his reflection anymore.

He deserved to die.

Antonio blinked in surprise, hot water rolling down his cheeks. Tears? Oh, he was crying. He didn’t deserve to that. He didn’t deserve his friends. Didn’t deserve pity or comfort.

So he smiled.

He dressed. The words hidden perfectly under the clothing like hidden chains, weighing him down in secret.

_ Die _

He smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll probably get two chapters today since I feel bad about not having time to post yesterday.


	7. Thoughts

Anya wanted to sing.

Nikolay was grumbling to himself, but it was more a feeling than it was audible. It felt like rummaging.

Vanya ran through the common room, not staying too long, not very loud at all. He was a sweet kid, didn't cause too many problems. There was no reason to keep him away other than he was too obvious.

Ivan sat in his room. His real room, in his house. It was dark-ish, the sun was getting low but not quite sunset, still an hour or two until then. His homework was open in front of him. He hadn't been there for lecture. Who had been? He asked the others.  
Anya.

* * *

**It had been a lovely day. School was the same as usual. Toris didn't come up to them today, not that she would have minded if he had. He was a nice boy, she liked him. Maybe she had a tiny bit of a crush on him when they were younger, but that caused issues. After all, there was that discrepancy. Even though she saw herself as petite and womanly, her chest would always be flat and those male-bits made everything, well, wrong. It made her a little sad when he stopped coming around, but it was for the better.**

**Lectures were easy, and since they rarely called on her anyway, something about being too involved, she didn't have to work to sound like Ivan. She definitely didn't enjoy that part of school. Sometimes it was a blessing that they had no companions outside of each other.**

**Ivan gave up, walking away from the controls. It was better to think of the body like some kind of robot. Or like that animated movie that came out not too long ago. Except, instead of emotions, it was personalities. People with their own identity, feelings, likes and dislikes. It made everything easier, made switching easier. Made the headaches almost totally disappear. Sometimes a fragment or alter outside the system would pop in, hijack the controls, make a mess of everything. Overall, however, it kept everything manageable.**

**She giggled to herself, answering the questions for the science report. If she kept up the description of the movie, Ivan would most likely be Fear. He was funny, clever, witty and shrewd.**

**Nikolay would be Disgust. He was petty, vindictive, emotional and assertive. He could say the most painful thing like it was nothing, usually he didn't even realize the effects he had on others.**

**Vanya was probably closest to Joy. He was just a kid after all. A really sweet kid. Sofia seemed to like him, even though she was always confused. Well, better she be confused than know the truth.**

**Viktor was easily Anger. He was everything Nikolay was minus the inhibitions. While Nikolay made a point to try and keep himself low-key, Viktor didn't care. He also had a tendency of ruining everything.**

**What did that make her? She almost called herself Riley, but that was presumptuous. Riley was a whole person, and she was just a fraction. A part of a whole person who grew their own surrogate identity to survive. She definitely wasn't Sadness, she tried to stay happy and upbeat. Maybe she should call herself Joy.**

**Oh, but then what would Vanya be?**

**"He'd be the imaginary friend," Nikolay spoke behind her.**

**Anya smiled at that. Yeah, he'd be the Imaginary Friend.**

* * *

_Nikolay didn't care for school. Probably because he never had to try hard to be good at anything, which just made it tedious. He preferred hard work with his hands, at least then he knew he was trying. All he wanted to feel was that he was trying. He tried to be a good person. Tried to be helpful. At the end of the day he never seemed good enough. Not for Sofia. Natalya accepted him as he was, but that wasn't what he wanted either. He just wasn't satisfied, was he?_

_"Stop wallowing," ANya chastised, finishing up the assignment, "There is an essay that needs to be done, can you do it?"_

_"Yeah," he sighed, "I can do it."_


	8. Grief

First there was nothing. Apathy. He had been having problems for the last year and a half. The blood, the pain, the swelling. He had been telling him to see the doctor. Blood wasn't good, never was. He should have known better.

 

Then there was need. This sudden inexplicable need to go and see him. But every time he tried, something happened. He had school, college applications, grants and interviews for scholarships. He had sports, car hunting, job searching, homework. Every time he tried to make that trip, he had to abort.

 

“Tomorrow. I'll go see the old man tomorrow. I'll bring flowers. Lilies and cornflowers and white roses. The vase looked nice too.”

 

Tomorrow.

 

I'll go tomorrow.

 

Tomorrow.

 

“Gilbert.”

 

He turned, his father in the doorway. He looked tired, his long blonde hair a mess and his eyes dark and heavy. “Frederick just passed. His family just called.”

 

It was numbing. He didn't know what to think, his mind working overtime but not going anywhere. All he could do was stare.

 

“I'm going over there now. Do you want to come? Will you be alright?”

 

Oh, he was supposed to answer. He was being given an out. He could stay here at home and hide. He could run away. He could pretend. In his head, he was sprinting in place. There was nowhere to go.

 

“I can go…”

 

It didn't look like him anymore. The body in the bed was nobody he knew. He was sprawled under the blankets as though he had been sleeping, one hand up by his head.

 

“We were sitting, talking, and we just knew. We sat there holding his hand and prayed him up to heaven.”

 

‘He never believed in going to heaven,’ he thought numbly to himself, still staring at the corpse. He didn't cry, he didn't get sad, he just felt empty.

 

“It was so peaceful. No heart attacks, nothing. Just a long, slow breath out and he was gone.”

 

A small whimper caught his attention as his father kept the family member together. Behind the couch, Lindsay peeked out into the room, ears flat against her head, the Italian Greyhound stares balefully up at the teen. The house full of strangers ignored the wide-eyed pup.

 

“Hey baby girl. Come here, Lindy.” The skinny little thing waddled out, pausing now and then and looking up at him as though looking for answers. Or maybe she already knew. Surely she smelt the death in the room.

 

He knelt down and she wormed her way slowly into his lap, whining now and then as he stroked her short fur and rubbed behind her pinwheel ears for comfort.

 

And he cried.

 

No one paid him any mind. It was as if the house full of strangers who never even knew the Old Man just ceased to exist. The bed with the empty soul vanished. There was nothing and no one in the world to comfort him.

  
He was just another stray dog now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My life just gets better.


	9. Emptiness

“I want to die.”

The words were reluctant to come out at first. How many times had she started to speak and no sound come out? But once the first syllable started, it just rolled off her tongue. It felt like a weight was lifted. They should have disturbed her. Those words should have woken her up. They didn't. They felt too right. Gave her the warmth that came only from acknowledgement of something that had always been there.

It faded all too soon into the nothing.

“You can't just say those things, Elizabeta,” he admonished. The indifference in his voice was almost insulting.

The brunette leaned back, the universal signal that she was quickly becoming less fond of him. “I never just say things.”

Roderich’s amethyst eyes hardened slightly; something she learnt had meant annoyance to the musician. “Then by all means, tell me what is wrong? You aced your audition, you got the hours you wanted at work, you finally paid off your car, you’re graduating in spring and you have been accepted to a professional dance studio. So what is going so wrong in your life to negate all of this?”

_‘The fact that I feel-.’_

“Nothing…”

“Nothing,” he sighed, feeling more irritated to where he leaned away as well. She contemplated leaving. He didn't get it. Wouldn't get it. Doesn't get it.

What good was anything when you couldn't feel about it? What good was breathing if it didn't feel like being alive? Sure, maybe she was channeling some of that high school emo angst, but it was the only way she could explain it, even to herself. The Nothing.

The only time she felt anything was when she ate. The flavors, the textures, the fullness. She was suddenly felt alive again. Felt emotions like a normal person.

But food was not a friend. More like the shady drug dealer down the street, playing with the doses so you'd have to pay more next time or miss the high entirely. In school, she medicated depression with food. By the time she graduated, she had gained so much weight, but she didn't even notice. To a point it didn't matter. As long as she wasn't dead…

In her freshman year of college, she starved. Just something clicked in her head about her weight and suddenly she had to get rid of it. She was on a mission to eliminate the ugly excess she had become. The food lost too much potency in small doses and was replaced by hunger pains and sore muscles. They kept her awake until she could hardly function.

Then the food came back. The weight crept back. She began to fear the weight, but also fear the emptiness.

So she purged. It seemed to make the most sense. She could eat and be alive, but also stay thin. The chest pains didn't matter, nor the toothaches and migraines. None of that mattered. All that mattered was the void was filled.

“I have to go.”

“Go where?” Roderich leaned forward as she stood. They spoke more in Acton than words at times, one of the main reasons their relationship had simmered to ‘just friends’.

“Need to buy more dance stuff. New shoes for performance, new tights; my last pair finally gave out.”

“Ah, I see. Drive safe.”

She smiled, it felt hollow. “When have I ever done anything safe?”

Smoothies, fries, burgers, pizza. She blew a whole week's worth of tips on this shit. Her stomach hated it as it all sat heavily inside. It didn't taste like it used to so she felt perplexed but it was not unpleasant. Worst of all it disappeared way too fast. The calories racked up as her wallet got lighter. It made her nervous with anxiety.

She cared. She finally cared. She actually cared.

  
And that's all she cared about as she locked the door to the single-serve bathroom behind her.


	10. LIAR

He looked disgustingly pathetic under her, her hand around his throat. Oh how she wished she could squeeze, squeeze him like a squirrel and watch his eyes bulge and tongue pop out. Watch him go blue and hear him struggle to breathe, have him flail under her.

_'It'll take too long. It's too public. There are cameras here. Anyone can walk in.'_

The initial shock had fallen from his expression, leaving only his cold challenging gaze. "Who are you to look at me like that?" she hissed, her face so close to his, she could feel him breathe, as shallow as it was. So close she was sure he could feel the hate.

"You're no one. You have nothing. You are nothing. You haven't earned anything. The only reason you're here is because of me. All those people you think are your friends, they were my friends first. You haven't gotten anywhere without riding someone's coattails. You don't belong anywhere. You haven't gotten anything because of who you are. Even your past boyfriends only dated you because I was too fucking good for them you faggot. You always have gotten my sloppy seconds, so now I'm telling you. Back. Off. Or I _swear to god_ I will kill you."

"Then why are you crying?"

_'How dare you! Not because of you! You're nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing!'_

She blinked in surprise, the sound snapping her out of her inner mantra, his face facing the other way, her hand raised. She slapped him. She slapped him hard. She could feel it in her hand.

It felt good.

The more she felt the cool warmth behind her palm, the more she wanted to grab his brown hair and just slam his head into the wall. Just slam. Slam! Pound it in until either the wall caved in or his skull! Oh how fucking good that felt. Just imagine it, his stupid stupid face exploding like a gusher, blood everywhere.

_'Do it. Do it! Doitdoitdoitdoitdoit!'_

It was almost scary. She didn't like these feelings. She wished she could be normal. How did one be normal? How would a normal person think and feel? Would this be happening if she wasn't so messed up? 'Is this all my fault?'

"Just listen!" she wanted to scream, but she couldn't bring herself to plead with him. Not anymore. Not ever. She already did that.

* * *

_"I want you to stop talking to him. We're not even on speaking terms. It's me or Feliks, Toris. Pick a side."_

_"Why are you doing this to me Natalya?"_

_"I'm not doing anything to you. You choose. Me or him."_

_"Why are you so-! No, you know what, no. I can't. I'm not going to."_

_"Okay. So you choose him?"_

_"I'm not choosing. I thought we could still be friends! You said just minutes ago we could!"_

_"I didn't know you liked to suck his dick so much that you'd choose him over the person who made you. I made you. Without me, you'd be nothing. You'd be friends with some retarded koala and sucking daddy's cock. I made your backbone. I carved it from my own flesh and gave it to you. I taught you how to be alive and this is how you repay me? I'm not losing shit tossing you. Why should I keep you. Give me a reason."_

_"I'm not choosing! I'm not playing your games!"_

_"You don't get a choice. I make the game. You live in my world, you play my games. You're not going to stop seeing him? You chose. You chose, and you chose wrong. Don't bother coming to class, and don't talk to my friends-."_

_"No! You know what, I'll come to class. I'll keep coming to class. I'll talk to everyone you know!"_

* * *

"How."

She felt the open hand ball up, her fist digging into his soft stomach. She held back, not as far gone as before, but still so angry, all she wanted to do was hurt. She wanted him to hurt as much as she hurt.

"Fucking."

She swung again, he doubled over, but instead of falling like she thought he'd do, the spineless leech tried to wrestle her. He grabbed her middle, trying to get leverage. For what? What a fucking idiot. They may have taken self-defense together, but it was clear who was and always had been superior. She put his head in a choke-hold and brought up her knee, getting his diaphragm, then his ribs. She tossed him to the floor like the trash he was.

" _Dare_ you."

He looked to the door from the floor, her hands were around his throat again. She wasn't done. "Who do you think you are to treat me like this? You were scared of _Ivan_? Fucking Ivan? He was scared of _me_ you stupid ass-cunt. You thought _he_ was scary? I _owned_ him. I own all of you. You thought _he_ would hurt you?"

She tossed him aside, blue eyes wide and wild like a raging snowstorm. "If I ever see you or your boy-toy ever again, I'll kill you. I'll fucking kill both of you."

 _'I can kill you right now._ ' She could feel the blade in her pocket. She could just slice him up now. Cut his throat, bleed him like a pig. Kill this fucking parasite.

He almost ran out the door, but he knew. He knew his safety relied on numbers. Witnesses. Someone to save him. She wouldn't get him alone again for a while.

"I wasn't playing," she spoke to herself, running her thumb against the blade obsessively, "I'll kill you. You lied to me. You said I was always going to be number one." She was almost thankful when the blade cut through her finger, the blood a comforting sight. She hadn't cut in years, but now she wondered why she ever stopped.

' _You better hope I never see you again.'_


	11. Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is easier to confess your insanity behind the guise of puppets.

"Natalya!"

She blinked, hearing her name. It took less than a second for her to process the situation. Slamming the chair into the ground, inches from the group of girls, she didn't wait for the teacher to come for her. Rather, she ran to the cubby under the counter.

Her safe place.

The heavy curtain fell behind her, drowning out all the noise from the classroom, or at least she pretended it did. Covering her hears, huddled in a ball, she could only really focus on the sounds of her breathing. Her face was hot, her eyes wide and seeing nothing.

' _It isn't fair! Not fair not fair not fair! They were my friends! That was my spot! Not fair! I hate you! Hateyouhateyouhateyouhateou! Diediediediedie!'_

* * *

" _She's a good student, very bright. It's just-."_

Oh, she must have fallen asleep. Did she sleep the whole time?

" _No, no. I understand. I can't apologize enough to you, or to the children's parents."_

That was-.

" _She's not a bad child, Sophia. It isn't your fault."_

" _Isn't it? If I was a better mother-."_

" _Don't put that pressure on yourself. She's a sweet girl, talkative and compassionate-."_

" _But the second she gets mad… that isn't my Natalya. That angry thing isn't my little girl."_

" _Well, I've never seen a preschooler wield a chair like that."_ The teacher joked awkwardly, trying to make light of it. Sophia didn't so much laugh as she did scoff.

Laying on her side, Natalya tried to make herself smaller. She didn't want to cry. She couldn't cry. If she cried, they'd know. No one can know. Now that she knew, they couldn't know she knew. Everything had to go back to normal.

If she didn't, no one would love her.

* * *

Alone.

School was lonely. By now, she just gave up trying to make friends. The playground was a terribly lonely place, like living in a glass case. Everywhere she went, people were laughing and having fun and talking with friends. She had no friends. Once in awhile she would talk to the playground supervisors, the adults making sure everyone got along. Or as along as one could. No one would get into physical fights, so as far as they were concerned they did their jobs well. Most of the time they just announced when lunch was over or yelled at the more unruly children for running on the blacktop.

Most of the time she was alone. This playground didn't have a swing set, which was like blasphemy. Who thought that was a good idea? No, it had a dodge ball court, which required you to have friends to play. There were the jump ropes. Ah, but she wasn't interested in them anymore. Since she learnt how to crossover, there wasn't much more she could challenge herself with.

Instead she perched on the top of the slide no one ever used. Fifth graders were too old for something so juvenile. It was small, enclosed, safe. It reminded her of the cubby. From here she could see everything. Her face emotionless, passive.

"I'm sad."

No one cared.

* * *

She liked art. She had never done something three-dimensional, sculpting was something new. She couldn't join the class so late in the semester, and after that whole fiasco with the theatre teacher, she didn't have anything else to look forward to. They slipped her in as a teacher's assistant, but that didn't let her actually participate. Most of the time she just cleaned the tools or the paintbrushes from the previous class.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?"

She turned from the running water, staring at the large teen looming over her. He was Carlos, a senior and a great deal older than her. She just stared at him, mechanically cleaning the brushes in dish soap. "Excuse me?"

"Who the fuck do you think you are? We don't need you."

She kept staring, the hurt those words caused, the confusion as to why this _man_ was angry with her not appearing on her face. Instead she just looked down her nose at him, despite being nearly a foot shorter. "Are you stupid?"

"I should fucking kill you," he growled, holding up a sculpting knife to her, threateningly, "We don't need no assistant! You think you're better than us because you're the TA? You stupid bitch, I should just stab you here."

' _Why does everyone hate me?'_

"You are stupid."

"You ugly cunt!"

' _What did I do? I just needed somewhere to go.'_

"Do I look like I care?"

"I should kill you. Everyone hates you!"

She glanced to the teacher. She was watching them. She had to be hearing all of this. Their eyes met.

She looked down.

She walked away.

She had a knife in her face.

And she walked away.

"Makes sense. Intelligence hates Stupidity, so it should only be natural that Stupidity gets jealous."

"What?"

The bell rang for the end of the period and she dumped the brushes in the sink, no longer feeling generous enough to help the teacher out. She didn't say anything as she grabbed her bag and left. Chewing the inside of her lip until it bled. Her chest hurt with pent up anxiety.

' _You all want to kill me.'_

She didn't cry. It was all she wanted to do, but she didn't.

* * *

"Ah, Natalya, how was today."

"Fine."

"... It doesn't sound fine."

"It was fine, just take me home. I'm done with this place."

* * *

Emos, as they were called, were deemed pathetic. Weak. Attention seekers. She wasn't looking for attention. She just wanted to disappear. She didn't want anyone to ever look at her again. She stared at that face, that mask.

"I hate you."

It cracked a little, blinking.

"I hate everything about you."

Its lips twitched. Trembled.

"I wish you'd die."

A tear streaked down its pale cheek, the eyes unblinking, refusing to admit defeat. She lifted the steak knife up. Holding it so the doll could see.

"Because you get angry, no one likes me."

It didn't look away from the chrome of the blade. They were brand new, still sharp.

"You're wrong. Everything about you is wrong."

She put the blade on her wrist, but paused. She didn't want to die. She didn't want anyone to know. No one could know.

Higher.

The outside of her upper arm. The meat there would serve what she needed.

"You're ugly from the inside. You have something wrong with you."

She held the knife in a reverse grip, the serrations biting into her skin. She could feel the flesh tear, it didn't hurt, rather it felt like ripping paper.

She watched the crimson bubble to the surface. It left her feeling….

Awake.

Again. Another. Deeper. Faster. Harder. More.

"You have bad blood."

She watched her arm, wiped it away to see the wound itself. She could look inside, see the fat, the muscle. She sat in the corner of the bathroom, watching the trails they made, watched it stain the linoleum floor with wide, unblinking eyes.

It felt like crying.


	12. Just to be Clear

I have gotten some questions on this story that inquire about story. Why the characters do this, why did they say that. I want to post this as a reminder, this is not an actual story. If it was, it would be an autobiography. Every main character is me. Every side character are people I have known. No, not every chapter is 100% accurate. I take creative liberties with my life to make it more coherent.

I have borderline personality.

This means I have very unstable and unpredictable moods, behaviours and relationships. I constantly “read between the lines,”; paranoid about how others think of me. This includes my family and friends. My opinions about people change rapidly. One moment I love you more than anything, willing to die for you, fighting to defend you. The moment you do something that triggers doubt in me, I absolutely hate you. You’re a liar, a fraud, you deceived me, betrayed me. It doesn’t matter anything you did before then. We could have been together for years, best friends, gone out the day before and had the best time. It doesn’t matter once that seed is planted. It can be something as little as your tone to set off feelings of abandonment.

Because of this, I also suffer from major depression which leaves me despondent and often times sleeping my emotions away. I have disordered eating. I have been everywhere from overweight to underweight. I’ve eaten my feelings, I’ve starved, I’ve purged. I crave control. I dissociate to cope and regulate myself with my emotions and my environment. Many people with borderline personality have been referred to as “chameleons” as they can almost seamlessly blend into their social surroundings, reading the reactions of others, at times almost subconsciously, to react in an appropriate manner. Because of this, they may even be mistaken for anti-social personality (also known as sociopaths). To the point they may not even know who they are.

  
So while I try to express a variety of disorders, I will write from my perspective which is somewhat skewed. Please keep this in mind when you read these chapters.


	13. Logic

_If I keep eating, I won't digest what I just ate quickly meaning I can keep purging as long as I keep eating to purge ..._

* * *

_Ew, I'm so gross I'm 50 calories over my limit, time to go purge!_

* * *

_Don't binge on healthy shit_

_*binges on healthy shit*_

_I know that, in reality I can't really gain much because my entire binge was very low cal, so let me binge on more super fatty foods so I don't feel guilty for purging_

* * *

_well i thought about it so now i have no choice but to binge and purge._

* * *

_i'm craving [insert small thing like a piece of chocolate] better buy everything in sight and cry_

* * *

_*wakes up with the intention of restricting but sees food*_

_"Might as well binge. It's too late to go back now."_

* * *

 

_"Maybe it will be okay if i eat [food]."_

_*considers for hours*_

_"I think it will."_

_*eats that food*_

_"NOPE NOPE THAT WAS NOT OK ITS NOT OK ITS NOT OK ITS NOT OK ITS NOT OK"_

_*bp*_

_The next day..._

_..._

_"Maybe it will be ok if i eat [different food]."_

* * *

_i've binged and purged everyday this week i might as well just do it again_

* * *

_"I really need to get my shit together, but right after this binge and purge."(said by me every fucking day)_

* * *

_Tomorrow is another day... But I BPed after midnight, so tomorrow is technically today and already lost to bp (me today wtf is wrong with me)_

* * *

_I had a good day. Let's celebrate by BP._

_I had a bad day. Let's make us feel better by BP._

* * *

_i'm going to break this b/p cycle tomorrow so i might as well just b/p again today_

* * *

_That's as good as the logic I use!_

_*binges*_

_*purges, and mid purge thinks " at least I don't have an ed now, since I'm eating"*_

_*continues purging*_

_*realizes what an idiot I am*_

* * *

_*thinks "Omg, I'm recovered! I haven't bped all day!" *_

_*realizes its 10 am*_

* * *

_My fave is "oh yay, my weight is down from restricting. Now I can b/p to celebrate"_

_*gains back 5 pounds cuz one b/p session turns into a week-long bender_

* * *

_"I ate so much food that really, at this point, purging is the healthy thing to do."_

* * *

_Oh well I'm already x $ in credit card debt might as well be $100 more in debt_

* * *

_I can't BP this weekend so I'll make it a situation where I absolutely cannot bp, hates self all weekend for being in said situation and finds ways to makeshift bp anyways even though it sucks_

* * *

_I can't digest food unless I gain ten pounds of water weight from not purging so that's why I need to spend 300$ on groceries and stay home all day today to binge and purge five times ignoring my phone calls and telling people I'm busy._

* * *

_I can't keep food down because if I can just purge it up why would I want to keep it_

* * *

_I can't spend 8$ on this lunch I'm keeping down because it's too expensive but if I really crave it I think it's a good idea to spend 50$ on food to binge and purge_

* * *

_I can't eat the full fat version but I can eat 10 versions of the fat free version and be triggered to binge_

* * *

_If I binge and purge right now I won't crave it anymore_

_Ten minutes after purging_

_Starts planning next binge and manipulating situation_

* * *

_*swallows a bite of food* Food's touching the inside of my stomach - omg i am fat.. i'm BLOWING UP.. i - might as well eat everything cause I'm fucking HUNGRY.. and get rid of it.. it's the only way to make it good again.._

* * *

_Well I'm alone and even though I don't feel like BPing who knows when I'll have this opportunity again so I must seize this!_

_I am alone every other day._

_I have this "opportunity" every other day._

_And even when I'm NOT alone, I BP._

_...What!?_

* * *

_*spots of blood come up*_

_"Oh..."_

_*continues to purge*_

_"Why does my heart hurt?"_

* * *

_Me at the moment: I can't stand how fat and bloated I feel after BP almost every day for a week._

_Could say: today is a new day - if I don't BP it can only get better and I will lose the binge weight quickly._

_But say: Feel so fat. May as well BP._

_Oh logic, I get you, I can grasp you but the other voice wins._

_(Hate it when I genuinely feel mentally ill)_

* * *

_I wasn't going to purge... but oh well i'm already layering the toilet with paper.._

* * *

_Purging is good because it clears your sinuses, even though it can cause chronic sinus problems over time._

* * *

_When feeling physically awful from so much BP_

_"You know what would make me feel better? BPing again."_

* * *

_Food in the house is tempting me._

_Better binge on it so there's none left to tempt me anymore!_

* * *

_I don't know if I'm eating the higher calorie food or the lower calorie food, but even though I planned for the higher cal, I know if I'm wrong I'll binge, even though lower cal is by far better, but it is not on my food plan so I must b/p if I eat it._

* * *

_If i keep binging I can just purge later._

* * *

_*eats brightly colored food first*_

_This way I know when I get everything!_

_*purges and the bright food comes up first*_

_MOTHERFUCKER!_

* * *

_I could do something emotionally fulfilling, productive, good for society, fun, exciting..._

_Ooh! Or I could eat til I burst then vomit it all up._

_Guess which one wins every damn time._

* * *

_"I'm binging cause I've been restricting so I must find that specific food that will end the binge" - eats all the food_

* * *

_"If I start to eat now it will lead to a bp so I'll just put it off longer" - and lead to bigger b's when the floodgates open._

* * *

_"It's better to eat some high caloric candies, than healthy food because the food has more bulk and it weighs more so it will make me heavier"_

* * *

_Just gonna eat the two burgers and purge._

_Eats 3 burgers, 17 granola bars, a cup ramen and 2 packets of expired Graham crackers. Now I must go puke, not because I'm done binging, but because those crackers are fucking poisoning me!_

* * *

_"I just need to b/p one more time to convince myself I don't want to do it anymore"_

* * *

_Right now: I'm going to slather all this bread with butter so it comes up easier. Ha!_

* * *

_My heart hurts, therefor I should purge more so that it hurts less_

* * *

_*Sees I gained 1 pound* Well, better do a massive b/p._

* * *

_Eating a healthy meal of grilled chicken breast, steamed broccoli and baby carrots - knowing if I keep it down my body will be so grateful for the nourishment yet still contemplating purging it cuz I feel full._

_Then...part two..._

_If I'm gonna purge, I might as well go hog wild and eat those Ranch Doritos, Pizza Rolls & Tollhouse Cookies mom bought for the party._

* * *

_-skips school to B/P, realize what I'm doing with my life, stop mid-purge to cry and SH, cry even harder because that means I didn't purge everything_

_-B/P's again to feel better_

* * *

_i went out to eat & went to the bathroom before dinner to wash my hands. the women's bathroom was totally secluded with a loud fan, a thick door with two locks, and was intended to be used by one person at a time. as soon as i stepped inside, i knew that i would be purging dinner in approximately 40 minutes. Hahahaha._

* * *

_*Has a dream about binging*_

_*Wakes up running to bathroom to purge*_

_Or_

_*Has dream about binging AND purging*_

_*wakes up and goes to b/p "again" cause already fucked the day up*_

* * *

_"Mom should be home soon so I don't have time to b/p again... Maybe I could have a salad or soup..." *is too triggered by other foods surrounding salad and soup*_

_-Okay, tea then.. wait how is mom not home yet, I could have at least eaten a sandwich and purged by now..._

_-*getting moodier as the seconds pass* Okay fuck it i'm having everything I want and if she comes home i'll just go out in the woods to purge. Who cares if a hunter shoots me lmao. *huge binge* *still getting angry that mother isn't home yet*_

* * *

_I binge because i'm upset and i'm upset because i binge...vicious cycle_

* * *

_I haven't lost any weight in over a week! So let me eat a shitton of food and puke my brains out. That'll work!_

* * *

_Embracing expired food cuz it might make me purge w/o having to stick a toothbrush down my throat._

* * *

_Hey, I know when I eat too much sugar I start having seizures, but I just found the chocolate._

* * *

_I gained a lot of weight because i would bp till exhaustion and then take food in my room and eat in the dark and not purge. I kept telling myself if i can't see it then it's not real._

* * *

_Me: I'm hungry_

_ED: Don't eat._

_Me: I'm not hungry_

_ED: Eat anything & everything._

* * *

_I am in so much emotional pain and mental anguish_

_Gonna b/p. That'll show em_

* * *

_Worrying whether my sugar cookie flavored tea has calories because of how good it tastes, while b/p'ing dozens of actual sugar cookies wouldn't even phase me._

* * *

_This thread just made me realize how un-alone i am. Wow._

* * *

 She closed her laptop, smiling bitterly to herself.

“It’s funny because it’s true.”

 

* * *

 

**_Fuck Bulimia!_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are a series of real posts by myself and others. Luckily for me I am in an upswing in my recovery. Bulimia absolutely warps your mind. It destroys your reality. It is a drug. An addiction like any other.

**Author's Note:**

> There may or may not be an actual unifying plot as this goes. See it more as a series of slice of life.


End file.
